The Phantom of Amity Park
by Caracal222
Summary: COMPLETE! After the events of Reign Storm, Spectra and another mysterious ghost arrive in Amity Park, seeking a certain object essential to their plans. How can Danny stop this new threat, if he even can? R and R!
1. Manson's Gift

_Fondest greetings to you all,_

_As you may or may not know, this is my first fanfic. If there are any critics among you, the readers, who have nothing positive to say to me, do us all a favor and hold your tongue. Understand? Good._

_That being said, I feel that it is my duty to warn you beforehand: I might not have much time to work on this story due to my frequent writer's block and busy schedule. Also, any ideas or suggestions on how to move the plot forward will be greatly appreciated._

_Well now...on with the show!_

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Disclaimer: Danny Phantom is the copyright of Butch Hartman.

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_**The Phantom of Amity Park**_

Chapter One: Manson's Gift

_**GHOST BOY SAVES CITY!**_

Sam Manson read through the 72-point Copperplate newspaper headline for the fifth time. It had been three days since her best friend had defeated Pariah Dark and freed the town of Amity Park from the ghost king's clutches. The national press (and possibly international, Sam considered) was eating this up like candy. More importantly, Danny Phantom was finally seen as a hero in many people's eyes.

_Speaking of which, he should have been here by now_, she thought. She had invited Danny and Tucker to her house over an hour ago.

_It's probably ghost trouble. Nothing Danny can't handle. If he defeated the Ghost King, anything else must be a walk in the park._

Just then, Sam heard the low revving of a car advancing into her driveway. Its unique droning sound immediately signaled it as her father's. He had been out on business for the last two days, partially because he need some time away from this town. Her mother and grandmother sympathized with this, yet stayed behind to aid in further repairs to the damage.

Sam put down the newspaper and went to greet her father. After all, her parents might have been uptight snobs, but she still cared about them.

"I'm hoooome!" her father's dry voice rang through the foyer. "Hi Pumpkin!"

"Hi Dad," replied Sam as she hugged her father.

"Good evening, sir," came the butler's cultured tones from behind Sam. "I trust your trip to Paris was satisfactory?"

Sam released her father so he could speak.

"Not really," her father said. "The investment fell through. I tell you, it's just not convenient to give money to some place so far away. On the upside, though, I brought a souvenir for you, Sam."

He opened his suitcase and produced a small wooden box lined with black velvet. It was embroidered with brass, and a bare spot on top signified where a figurine used to stand.

Mr. Manson handed the box to Sam. "My second cousin gave that to me," he explained. "Said it was an old family heirloom. He didn't explain anything about that song it plays, though."

"Song?" questioned Sam.

"It's a music box. Listen." She opened the top, and the box started to let out a soothing, somewhat haunting tune. Just the kind of music she liked. Her purple lips curled into a small smile.

"Thanks, Dad." With that, she took the box up to her room and waited for her friends to arrive, listening to the box's haunting song the whole time.

* * *

Moonlight covered Amity Park like a blanket that night. It had brought an eerie, unworldly miasma to the darkness, creating an overall mood of uneasiness to anyone unfortunate enough to be awake.

Danny Fenton was not one of those people. He, along with the rest of his family, had been exhausted from the ordeal with Pariah Dark. Yet while he slept, a thousand questions ran through his mind: _How did Vlad gain the allegiance of the Fright Knight? What happened to the Ecto-Skeleton? What was he to do now that people no longer feared him?_

As these thoughts clouded Danny's dreams, a giant mass of fog gathered on the roof opposite the Fenton residence. The way it was moving might have signified some sort of thought on its part.

Slowly, the fog compressed and materialized. Out of the haze stepped a dark, humanoid figure, silhouetted against the full moon. In the dim light, one could see that it was wearing a knee-length cloak and a slouch hat that enveloped its face in shadow. The only visible facial features were its glowing eyes: the left being sky blue, the right a darker, oceanic shade.

The figure delicately stepped towards the edge of the roof, staring down at the house across from it. After a few seconds, it clapped its hands together, materializing a glowing blue spyglass, which it used to peer into Danny Fenton's window.

"It must be somewhere in this town," the form said to no one in particular. It had a masterful, weary voice that seemed to come from everywhere at the same time. "If not, at least I have the famous Danny Phantom to point me in the right direction. These people are the main obstacle. All that equipment is apparently designed to detect ghosts, and I don't want anyone getting in the way of my affairs."

It lowered the spyglass, which vanished with a wisp of smoke. "However if they insist, they will meet the fate of all who dare to cross me." The form then let out a malevolent cackle as it took off into the night, its cloak whipping in the wind.

* * *

_What do you think? I mentioned my writer's block already, so any helpful suggestions will be most appreciated. As I stated before, flames will not be tolerated, though helpful criticism is tolerable._

_I thank you all again for reading my first work._

_Your sincerest regards,_

_Monsieur Caracal._


	2. The Masked Ball

_Hello, again!_

_I trust that most of you enjoyed my first chapter? I apologize for the relatively short length; I'll try to make them longer in the future._

_Now, in a step I have decided to take initially, I'm perfectly aware that I'm not the only person to have thought of this basic plot line. In fact, this is quite an oft told story. However, I plan, with your help, to make my story a bit more unique than others. I thank you all once again for taking a minute of your time to help me._

_Okey dokey, here we go...

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_

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters mentioned herein.

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Chapter Two: The Masked Ball

Casper High was buzzing with activity the following day. The school grounds had sustained significant damage during the invasion. The football field looked like a war zone: blast craters and skeletal debris littered the ground, and the recently toppled goalpost was barely holding in the endzone. Above all, the lingering and pungent scent of ozone hung in the air.

"At least our classes have been shortened," said Tucker. The three teenagers stood beside Danny's locker as school let out for the day.

"Yeah, but we have to help in the cleanup after school's out," added Sam. "I'm not even sure if that's legal or not."

Danny had already gathered his books and shut his locker. "It's volunteer work. You don't have to do it if you don't want to. What's that?" He gestured towards the newspaper in Sam's hand.

"_USA Today_. Your rescue made the front page. It's been like that in every newspaper I've seen."

"Don't you think people are getting out of hand about all this?" asked Tucker. "I know Danny saved the city, but none of his so-called 'crimes' have made national news."

"That might just be the case," answered Sam. "Take a look at this: the mayor and his administration are throwing a costume ball in your honor tonight, Danny."

Danny froze in his tracks. "_What?"

* * *

_

The gala was simply extravagant. All of the upper-crust and main players in the recent events had been invited to attend. A special hall had been rented out just for the occasion. Chandeliers dripping with crystals of every conceivable color and shade hung from the ceiling, and black and white trappings were draped along the ballroom.

Only three guests refused to show up. The first, the ghost boy for whom the party was for, could not be contacted. The second, a billionaire from Wisconsin who helped build the battlesuit that owed to the victory, had sent a note explaining a recent illness. The third, daughter of Damon Grey, security director of Axion Industries, had been grounded for reasons kept private.

Danny, Jazz, Tucker, and Sam sat at one of the round tables, trying not to attract attention. The were the only four not in costume. All had considered that idea incredibly embarrassing, and were in no mood to join their parents on the dance floor. Besides, classical music was the choice of the evening.

Actually, only the Foleys and Mansons were dancing. Jack and Maddie, dressed in their jumpsuits with upturned hoods, were blathering on about ghosts to the mayor, who seemed bored to tears.

"Danny," said Jazz, who had taken notice of their parents near the lead table, "I think we should probably go somewhere less conspicuous before anyone recognizes us."

"Good idea." They then started to walk towards the exit, waving goodbye to Danny's friends.

It was at that moment that a wisp of blue vapor escaped Danny's lips.

While Jazz walked outside, he quickly looked around for any sign of a ghost, but saw only a small group of murmuring people crowding around the exit in a large circle. As he walked by, the temperature in the immediate area seemed to drop about twenty degrees. The teenager then made a run for the nearest hiding spot; in this case a high hedge outside the entrance.

"Jazz!" he exclaimed upon seeing his sister.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" replied Jazz. "Were you hiding here? I'll just hide over there, then." Danny waited until his sister was out of view.

"I'm going ghost!"

A halo of white light shot out of Danny's mid section, which then split in two and spread in opposite directions up and down his body. The dress suit he was wearing vanished, revealing a black hazmat suit with white gloves, boots, belt, and collar. On the chest was a white combination "DP" emblem. His hair became a snowy white, and his eyes a glowing, ghostly green. He had become a half-human, half-ghost: Danny Phantom.

Quickly, he became intangible, his skin now translucent and glowing blue. He then phased through the wall, becoming invisible upon reaching the other side. As he gained altitude to observe the object of the crowd's attention, Danny came upon a strange sight:

A gaunt figure dressed entirely in shades of red strode across the dance floor with a delicate gait, a circle of curious guests about five feet in radius surrounding it. The person was male in appearance and had on a European nobleman's outfit, complete with a matching, feathered tricorn hat resting on its head. A long, scarlet cape embroidered with gold stitching trailed behind it like a king's train, and tight-fitting knee-high boots hugged its thin ankles. It held a walking staff of about five feet in length with a fancy brass skull on the tip. Yet most disturbing of all was its mask: an incredibly detailed death's head that covered its entire face.

As Danny approached the figure unseen, his ghost sense went off again. There was no doubt in his mind now; this figure was obviously a ghost who had crashed the party in the guise of a literary character Sam had once talked about in the sixth grade.

_Who was it again?_ he thought. _I know who this guy's dressed as, but I can't place the name..._

The crowd around the menacing partygoer parted away, revealing it to the whole of the ballroom. The Mayor, who had broken off from the Fentons, walked towards the crimson figure with sheer indignation.

"Now see here!" spat the Mayor. He was not very imposing considering his rather short height. "Who are you? Everyone has been accounted for, and I will not have any uninvited-"

He had started to poke the figure in the chest when it had shot out one of its gloved hands. Before anyone knew what had transpired, the Mayor's arm had been caught in the vice-like grip of this masked stranger. With surprising strength, it lifted its antagonist up to its own eye level.

"You would be wise not to touch me again." The figure spoke in a male voice that was both masterful and ubiquitous. "When Prince Prospero dared to touch the Red Death, he brought death and decay upon a thousand innocent people."

_That's it! The Red Death! _thought Danny. He was about to make himself visible when he saw his parents brandishing their ghost-hunting equipment in the direction of the man in red.

"Get your hands off our duly elected leader, you odd manifestation of ectoplasmic energy and post-human consciousness!" declared Maddie as she aimed and charged her Fenton-Bazooka.

In one fluid movement, the Red Death pointed its skull-staff at the Fentons. A ray of blue energy lanced out of the tip, blasting the two ghost-hunters into a nearby refreshment table.

"There's no need for any of that!" said the crimson ghost. He then released the Mayor, who sat on the ground, completely stupefied along with everyone else. Danny could see that the man no longer stood on the ground, but levitated in midair. "I don't mean harm to anyone who doesn't harm me first."

As the ghost in red glided across the ballroom, the guests did nothing but stare at him like fascinated infants. Danny could now see that he was hovered towards the table where Sam and Tucker sat...

* * *

Sam had lost all ability to move as the grotesque figure approached. There was a certain air about his presence; the type of hypnotic effect created when she listened to her new music box for a long period of time. The ghost halted when it reached the table, still levitating in midair. The two teens looked around: although everyone was staring in the direction of the ghost, no one seemed to pay the slightest bit of attention to anything it said.

"You know where to find him, don't you?" stated the masked specter.

At last, Sam regained the ability to speak. "Wh- What do you mean?" she stammered.

"The ghost boy. You two know who he is and how I can find him. Soooo...where is he?"

"_Right here!"_ The scarlet ghost whipped around in time to see the black-and-white blur of Danny Phantom flying at him like a comet.

Danny connected his first strike, ramming his adversary in the stomach. Thick, blue smoke started to spill from the orifices of the flying costume until a mass of fog filled the room. Accompanying it was a malevolent cackle that sent chills down his spine. The vaporous mass then began to glow and rose upwards, disappearing when it hit the ceiling. Danny started to glow the same shade as he chased after the gas, Tucker and Sam following closely behind.

* * *

_Oh I just love cliffhangers, don't you? As you probably know from the new summary, I've chosen my villain along with developing the original character you've just borne witness to._

_All I need now are some of your ideas to help me along. I thank you in advance for your courtesy._

_By the way, Ultimate TH and Mina-Chan AD, thanks for your support!_

_Your sincerest regards,_

_Monsieur Caracal._


	3. The Two Phantoms

_Greetings once again, fellow fanfic enthusiasts!_

_Thanks to your helpful insights and suggestions, I've finally gotten back on track with my story. I will presume that many, if not all of you have figured out who my not-so-original character is; if not, well then read and find out. _

_Also, Mina-Chan AMD, Ultimate TH, DragonShadow, Inumaru12,and Phantomhobbitses: I thank you all for your reviews, so please keep your ideas rolling in! I might really need them later on!_

_Enjoy!

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_

Disclaimer: Must I:_growls with annoyance_: Alright! None of the characters in here are mine.

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Chapter Three: The Two Phantoms

Danny phased onto the roof, where the red sunset brilliantly accented all of Amity Park in a crimson hue. However, this was not the time to look at sunsets. He looked around the roof and up into the sky, but found no trace of the blue cloud which had escaped the now-empty Red Death costume down in the ballroom below.

Tucker and Sam came bolting through a roof access exit door, still shaken from the ordeal with the ghost in red. Both were panting heavily, and Sam had nearly tripped on the hem of her long, black dress.

"Where...did...he...go?" asked Sam through her heavy breathing.

"I don't know," answered Danny. "How did he know about you two being my friends?"

"Forget that!" exclaimed Tucker, who was gaining his breath again. "What does he want with you?"

It was at that moment that all three teens heard that same voice from above:

"Oh Danny-boy! Look up, for I am calling!"

Their heads shot upwards, and Danny, Sam and Tucker saw a dark figure in a black cloak and slouch hat hovering twenty feet above them. It was holding the same walking-staff as the macabre partygoer had, and had a look of utter arrogance in its mismatched blue eyes.

Almost reflexively, Danny flew upwards to meet his foe. From this new viewpoint, he could see that under the ghost's knee-length cloak was a finely tailored tuxedo which lay on a skeletally thin frame. He also had abnormally long fingers covered in white cotton gloves, yet the only visible facial features were his eyes: two different glowing shades of blue. Finally, the air around the figure was ice cold and smelled unpleasantly of death.

"How nice to meet you," said the cloaked man, as if he were answering a door. "I can only presume that _you_ are Danny Phantom. Is that much correct?"

Danny was speechless. Usually by now, a ghost would have either attacked him, ran, or shouted some sort of lame pun at him.

"I'll take that as a yes," continued the ghost. "I require your assistance in a rather important personal matter of mine."

"And what's that?" asked Danny suspiciously.

"That's not for you to know. All I'll say is that it involves the retrieval of a special item and the murder of the one who stole it from me. Now come; time waits for no man – or ghost."

"Are you crazy! I'm not gonna let you kill someone!"

"Then stand aside!" The cloaked man let loose a blue energy blast from his staff at Danny, who just narrowly dodged it. The ghost-boy followed suit with his own ghost ray, blasting his adversary out of the sky.

The shady ghost landed a mere two feet away from where Tucker was standing with a loud _thud_! Thinking quickly, the teen whipped out his PDA and turned its lens on the ghost's face, snapping a picture with an inbuilt digital camera.

Danny came down on the roof just as the cloaked ghost was on its feet again. As he let loose another ghost ray, his enemy formed a rectangular sheet of blue ectoplasm about a yard long and wide to block the attack.

"Such low-grade attacks," said the ghost with abrasive nonchalance. "I wasn't expecting the world-famous Danny Phantom to be such a pushover. Maybe I shouldn't have wasted my time with you..._loser._" He breathed out the last word with an arrogance that few can master.

Danny's blood – if that was what the green fluid that now ran in his veins could be called – began to boil. "_Do...not...call...me...a loser!_" he roared, his voice building with every word.

He then lunged at his adversary, his fists glowing green, and punched right through the ecto-shield into the ghost's head.

The impact of the punch launched the ghost right off the building, its slouch hat flying off its head. All the three caught, however, was a glimpse of slicked-back, jet black hair. They ran (or flew, in Danny's case) to the side where the ghost fell...

* * *

Jazz rushed to the side of the building where she heard the crash. She had been sitting in the RV, considering the theory that she might have been adopted, when she had seen flashes of green and blue light coming from the roof of the event hall. Jazz knew these flashes to be the result of the energy blasts that her brother and other ghosts fired out of their hands.

She had known about her brother's secret for the past few months now, ever since she witnessed his transformation behind the town pharmacy. Despite that she came off as cold and cynical, Jazz genuinely cared for her little brother, and helped in her own special way whenever she could. As she came to the spot where she had seen someone fall, Jazz found a cloaked man in expensive clothing start to stir from unconsciousness.

_This has to be the ghost that Danny was fighting_, she thought as she hid from view in a nearby sage bush. Jazz's eyes widened at the ghost as it got back on its feet. He looked extraordinarily like Danny: his hair, his facial shape, his eyes, his build...but this man was in his mid-60s and had a paler, more sickly complexion than her brother. Also, his right eye was darker than the other one, and was surrounded by a white porcelain half-mask that covered the right side of his face–

Jazz's thought processes ground to a halt.

_That mask...is that the Phantom of the Opera?_

She had thought the story of Erik the Phantom had been just that: a story. Even though she knew that ghosts existed, she never expected this disfigured genius to be real, let alone a ghost. Then again, she had been proven wrong about many things she never believed to be true.

The Phantom brushed the dirt off his tuxedo and stared up towards the ledge from where he had fallen. Jazz turned her head upwards and saw her brother and his friends looking down at their adversary. In response, he pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, concealing his face in shadow. Then, he disappeared in a cloud of thick, blue fog.

For a moment, the older of the two Fenton siblings sat in the sage bush spellbound by what had just transpired. Coming back to her senses, she then dashed back inside the building.

There, sure enough, were Danny, Tucker, and Sam sitting at their table, out of breath, shivering, and trying to conceal their faces as Jack and Maddie quarantined the ballroom.

* * *

"You're saying you got his picture?" asked Danny.

"The quality's kinda blurry, but yeah, I got it." Tucker took the PDA out of its holster and brought up a dark, fuzzy image with two mismatched eyes.

"Now let's see..." he mumbled as he started to press buttons rapidly. "If I adjust the brightness, sharpen the image a bit..._voila!_" The picture was now somewhat legible, showing the face of a pale man with a white vertical half-mask over the right half of his face.

"_The Phantom of the Opera!_" Sam breathed out.

"Who?" asked the two boys simultaneously.

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch.

"I did a writing assignment of the book by the same name," explained Sam as they walked towards their lockers. "You can't tell me you've never heard of the musical."

Danny was vaguely recalling seeing the said play as a child when Tucker cut in:

"Guys, I think the Phantom's the least of our worries at this point. Look."

Danny and Sam looked in the direction Tucker was pointing. There, walking down the middle of the hallway, was a tall, shapely woman in her mid-twenties wearing a red business dress and dark, short rimmed sunglasses. She had piercing green eyes and chestnut hair that mimicked horns in appearance. Danny knew this "woman" all too well.

"Why, hello!" said Penelope Spectra in her sultry voice. "Did you miss me?"

* * *

_There you have it! My story, thanks to your ideas, is now starting to take shape! Keep sending those reviews in! Like I said earlier, I might need them later on._

_Ciao, friends!_

_Your sincerest regards,_

_Monsieur Caracal._


	4. Spectra's Return

_Here I come to save the day!_

_I hope all my favorite readers and writers are enjoying my story thus far. After reading a review by Faith's melody and having a caffeine-fueled brain storm, I've managed to come up with an even better plot than the one originally intended. Don't worry, it'll still fit in._

_I also see that a lot of people were surprised by my addition of the Opera Ghost into my story. Although not the intended effect, I'm still pleased! _

_I did some research into all the versions of the Phantom, and have made up my own version; a combination of the characters created by Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay, and Andrew Lloyd Webber. I hope you like him!_

_Also, earlier in the summer, I read Thomas Harris' _Hannibal _(I strongly recommend it to crime, horror, and gothic novel fans), which inspired my usage of Dr. Spectra in this story. _

_As for Jazz, she will play a much larger role in this new plot. As you said, Ultimate TH, the possibilities are endless!_

_Thanks for all your help, people! A double thanks to you, Faith's melody! Let us begin!

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Chapter Four: Spectra's Return

Spectra stared down at Danny for a moment with her eager green eyes. Her expression was not scornful, but eager and lively, as though she were looking at a newborn baby. Upon this, Danny felt angry, depressed, and embarrassed all at the same time.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he near-yelled.

The woman maintained her innocent expression. "Why are you yelling at me, Danny?" she asked softly.

"You know why!" he snapped. His eyes were glowing green at this point.

"Daniel Fenton! I will _not_ have yelling in my school!"

Mr. Lancer, an imposing, bald man in his mid-forties and the Vice Principal of Casper High, stepped out from behind Spectra. A look of sheer disdain was on his face. It had been _he_ who had yelled at Danny.

"May I ask what that outburst was for, Mr. Fenton?" he asked coldly.

"I – uh – I..." Danny stammered. How could he come up with a believable explanation? After all, nobody but he and his friends knew that Spectra was a ghost.

"He was...uh...just so surprised that Dr. Spectra is back, is all!" Tucker finished.

"Oh," replied Lancer. "Well then, I believe you are all owed an explanation: Dr. Spectra tells me that she has been in the hospital recovering from injuries she sustained on her vacation to Aspen. When I ran into her again at the bookstore, I offered her the chance to be reinstated to the empty teen therapist position."

"Needless to say, I accepted!" said Spectra enthusiastically. "Now I get to see all my favorite faces again!"

The three teens stood in place, puzzled looks on their faces.

"I look forward to talking to all of you again. _Ciao!_" The red-haired woman proceeded to walk past Danny and his friends, to where her old office had been.

"You had better get going," stated Lancer. "Class starts in two minutes." And with that, he walked away.

It was all incredibly hard to digest at once. Not only had a disfigured opera ghost ruined the _bal masque_ that had been held in Danny's honor, but now one of his most unforgiving and sadistic enemies was back in a place of power over his life. And the worst part was that Danny couldn't do a thing about it, lest he be thought of a malevolent criminal again.

It was all just a dirty, confusing mess...

* * *

Dr. Spectra's office reflected the general mood of her patients: cold, bleak, and depressing. On the walls were various photos of her with her various student subjects, who were a sad contrast to her peppy and eager smiles in all of them. Her psychiatrist's degree hung in an expensive silver plaque right behind her desk. A file cabinet and a bookshelf containing various psychology publications dominated the far side of the room, and two school-issue seats sat across from her own personal office chair. Most of all, the thermostat read the room's temperature as ice-cold; a very accurate reading.

The doctor herself sat in her chair, breathing in a thin, green mist that surrounded her head. Almost immediately, the crow's feet that had formed near her eyes disappeared, leaving flawless, pristine skin. She sighed with contentment as she looked herself over in a compact mirror. In the aftermath of Pariah Dark's invasion, misery had pervaded much of the students.

Misery was her fountain of youth.

Penelope glanced at the clock radio on her desk; it read 4:37 P.M.

Her assistant should have been back by now...

As if to read her previous thoughts, a short, stout middle-aged man burst through her door. He wore a fancy suit-jacket over a red sweater-vest and white dress shirt, complete with a black bow-tie. His eyes were wide-set and green, his hair gray with age, as was his brush-like moustache. Finally, he was breathing as though he had just ran a marathon.

"Bertrand, you're over five hours late." The childish innocence had not left her voice.

He did not reply for a few moments to catch his breath. "I lost my ride back here! I had to claw onto the wing of a 747! Don't blame me!" There was an unmistakable snippy, biting quality to his voice.

"Now, now, you don't have to yell. I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason he wasn't there," she stated simply. He sat down at one of the chairs, patting his forehead with a handkerchief he kept in his pocket.

"Oh really? Name one."

"Did you wait for him where he asked you to?"

"Yes. All I did was go a few blocks over to look at the _La Madeleine_. He automatically assumed that I had abandoned him!"

A blue mist started to fill the room, condensing into a cloaked, hooded figure.

"I gave you clear instructions to wait in the Café de la Paix until 11:00," said the figure ubiquitously. "I am not a man to suffer fools, nor wait around endlessly for one!"

"And I suppose it's my fault too that the ghost-boy nearly socked your face in?" Bertrand shot back.

"You never told me he wouldn't aid us willingly!"

"_You_ should never have told him you were going to kill someone!"

Spectra got up from her desk. "_THAT"S ENOUGH!_" she yelled with sudden, terrifying fury. For a split second, her eyes flashed like fiery coals. Both men sat down, quaking in fear at the woman's display.

"Now Erik," her voice went back to normal tone, "is everything progressing smoothly?"

"Relatively so, Madam," replied the cloaked man. "We're still having trouble locating the piece. I've turned all of Paris upside-down and come up with nothing. From what the old man told me, he gave it to his second cousin. Someone named Jeremy Manson who lived in this city."

Spectra's eyes widened at the mention of that name. She walked over to her file cabinet, opening the drawer that held letters H through N. Thumbing through with lightning speed, she pulled out a file labeled _Manson, Samantha. _Spectra tossed the file over to Erik, where it landed in his lap.

"I believe _that's_ who you're looking for," said the doctor in a matter-of-factly voice.

The cloaked man thumbed through the pages, quickly finding the information he was looking for:

"Father: Jeremy Manson... We've found it!"

He lifted his hood down from his head, revealing his slick, black hair, his pale, sickly skin, and his vertical half-mask across his face. A smile spread across his bloodless, malformed lips; a gleam shone in his odd blue eyes. His voice was now somewhat reverent and awestruck.

"_I've found it._"

* * *

Sam's room was incredibly quiet at this hour. The sun had completely disappeared over the outlying hills, the waxing moon was in full view, and her parents had finally turned in for the night. This was the time when she could immerse herself in all that she loved until she drifted off into slumber.

Tonight, however, she was wide awake, pacing frantically around her room as though on a sugar binge. The knowledge that one of Danny's worst foes was back working at her school kept her ever alert, as though she expected Spectra to swoop down from the night sky and wreak her vengeance upon them all.

"I have to get to sleep..." Her voice was slightly manic from the stress. She went over to her dresser, where her music box sat silently, and opened the top. The haunting, soothing tune chimed out of it once again.

As Sam relaxed on her bed, she admired the red plush velvet lining on the inside of the box. It was truly remarkable how something that old could be so beautiful. She ran her hand through the inside...until she came upon a tear in the lining. Further examination revealed a piece of ancient paper jutting out of the orifice.

Delicately, Sam detached the square of velvet from the box, temporarily distorting the tune. She withdrew an ancient stack of folded paper that looked as though it were decades old.

Sam replaced the velvet, correcting the music, and unfolded the parchment. On it were various faded musical notes lined in their respective bridges, written in red ink.

"What the..." she whispered as her amethyst eyes wandered up the paper. At the top was the title of the piece, the same color as the notes, written in lofty, whimsical script:

_Don Juan Triumphant_

_by Erik

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_

_There you have it! My plot is finally taking a bit more shape, and I have all of you to thank for it! Once again, thanks for all your reviews, and please send in more of your ideas. With my writer's block kicking in, I could sure use them._

_Au revoir!_

_Your sincerest regards,_

_Monsieur Caracal._


	5. Jazz's Concern

_Hello once again to all my friends!_

_I'm so glad that my story is finally starting to take shape, thanks to all of your helpful suggestions! While browsing around this site, I found out you were right, Faith's melody: there aren't many stories that involve Dr Spectra. It pleases me to be one of the first to include her in my work._

_As for my writer's block, it surfaces every so often; but then my detached thoughts start to piece together and I get back on track. Even so, I still need your help on this. I don't know where I'd be without you, people! Thanks a million!_

_Breaking off entirely, I've found a quote that an avatar artist known as zDBZ so eloquently tied into Danny Phantom:_

**"_You only live twice: once when you are born, and once when you look Death in the face."_**

_**-Ian Fleming**_

_I would never have made that connection!_

_Also, my version of _Don Juan Triumphant _is not the same music as composed by Andrew Lloyd Webber; it is based on the concept originally intended by Gaston Leroux. I just want to get that out of the way to avoid confusion._

_Now, let's journey into this palace of my mind...

* * *

_

Chapter Five: Jazz's Concern

"I must say," droned Sam's butler, "this is the most dissonant piece of music that I've ever seen."

"Could you just play it, already?" groaned Sam.

"As you wish, Miss Manson." The butler put the ancient stack of paper on the stand of the family's grand piano. Sam had spent nearly all of last night filling in the near-faded notes on the sheets. Now, as her parents were out on business, she decided that now was a good time to hear this mysterious music. She sat down in a fancy chintz lounge chair as the butler began to play.

What came out of the piano, however could not be called music. It was a shrill, shrieking noise akin to talons scraping across a chalkboard or the slaughter of screaming animals. The sound seemed to wrack every nerve in her body like an lightning strike. Even clutching her ringing ears could not drown out the horrid wail.

"**_STOP!_**" she screamed. The butler seemed relieved; judging from his mortified expression, he had heard the sound too.

"Oh my...I only progressed five notes into it..."

Sam took the sheets from the piano, staring down at the glistening red notes. Then, as she got up to leave, she found that every object made of glass or crystal had been shattered. Even a few clay or porcelain trinkets now lay in pieces on the floor.

With the music papers in tow, Sam tenderly stepped over the disintegrated glass and china, the sound still ringing in her ears.

* * *

Dr. Spectra's return to Casper High was clearly visible among the student body. Many people looked entirely miserable after their sessions with her, as though drained of all positive emotion their bodies could produce. The worst of it was that none of the teachers could find the source of this mass depression, so the students were returned to the doctor, therefore perpetuating the cycle once again.

Jasmine Fenton was one of the few who knew the truth behind this eccentric lady. A few months ago, around the time she discovered Danny's secret, it became apparent that something was not right, as she was the only remotely happy teen in all of Casper High. The cause turned out to be Spectra herself, whom Jazz had seen draining the misery out of her little brother after he had saved her from certain death. In response, she had used her father's latest invention, the Fenton Peeler, to reduce the psychiatrist to a withered old husk.

However, Jazz knew better than to blurt out that information without considering the consequences. Spectra was ruthless and sadistic, and would likely torture her to death for ruining her scheme. Besides, the last thing she needed was a tarnish on her perfect image by hunting a ghost like her parents would.

Still, she couldn't stand about idly while innocent children were exploited like this.

In the meantime, she vowed not to let Spectra pick her mind in her therapy session today.

As she rounded the corner, Jazz saw that Dr. Spectra was leading Star, a blonde-haired freshman, out of her office as the bell rang, ending classes for the day.

"Oh don't worry!" she said to the fair-haired teen. "There's always going to be somebody out there who's better than you at something. Paulina's no exception. It's just the way life works." Star looked as though she were on the verge of tears as she stomped past Jazz.

"Hello, Jazz!" the doctor greeted enthusiastically. Jazz, however, walked into the office without a word, slamming the door behind her. She sat down on one of the threadbare chairs, trying to ignore the depressing atmosphere.

"So, what do you want to talk about?" asked Spectra. "Repressed memories? Traumatic experiences? Emotional problems?"

Jazz was now thoroughly annoyed. "I came here to tell you that I know all about you and your intentions. I'm not going to let you get away with whatever you're planning."

"What about your little brother, the ghost boy? Shall we talk about him?"

The red-haired teen's eyes widened at this question. She had not been expecting this.

"Wh-What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I mean. You know about Danny and his powers; and I know that you know. There's no point in trying to deny it."

"I warn you, if you hurt him-"

"What can you do about that? The only reason you triumphed the last time is because you caught me by surprise. You feel that it's your duty to play the "big sister" towards Danny, even when he's not even human anymore. I think you fear that eventually one of the ghosts he fights will find a way to do him serious harm, whether to him or those he cares about. It keeps you awake at night, doesn't it?"

Memories from the deepest reaches of Jazz's mind started to surface: _the knight clad in black armor facing off with Danny on the football field; the green panther further pushing him into depression; the day after the accident with the ghost portal; her tutoring session with Danny in the first grade; the very first time she saw her little brother, and the promise she made to her mother that she would do her best to protect him..._

Dr. Spectra looked down at her watch, which emitted a beeping sound.

"Whoops!" she exclaimed. "Looks like that's all the time we have for today! I'm gonna go get a game in before sundown."

Spectra walked over to her closet and took out a set of brand-new golf clubs. Jazz got up to leave as the doctor opened the door for her. As she walked away, Spectra called to her from down the hall:

"Goodbye, Jazz! And remember: there's only an "I" in "misery" if you spell it that way!"

* * *

The par-90 golf course that lay on the Southern edge of town belonged to five generations of Mansons. Few people knew of this, outside of personal friends of the Manson family. One of those was Danny Fenton, who was in ghost mode flying over the golf course that evening, mulling over the events that had taken place recently. It was at this time that something on the course drew his attention.

Penelope Spectra, clad in a fancy pink golf skirt, was teeing off on the fourteenth hole. Alongside her was Bertrand, also wearing golf attire and holding two heavy golf bags.

_Perfect_, Danny thought. This was his chance to catch Spectra while she was alone, and avoid whatever it was she was planning. He swooped down to engage her when a dark mass tackled him out of the sky, causing him to land a few yards away from the tee.

"Danny!" Spectra sounded as though she were pleasantly surprised. "How nice of you to join us! Would you like to play?"

"We'll give you a stroke a hole," chimed Bertrand.

"I'm not in the mood for jokes," said Danny dryly. "But I think there's a good course back in the Ghost Zone!" He took out the Fenton Thermos and aimed it at the doctor and her snippy assistant.

The dark mass came out of nowhere and knocked the thermos out of his hand, coming to a landing right in front of him. It wore a knee-length cloak, a finely tailored tuxedo, and a white half-mask that obscured the right half of its face.

"The Phantom!" exclaimed Danny, taken by surprise at the Opera Ghost's presence.

"So I see," replied the Phantom, gesturing at Danny. "But please, call me Erik. Everyone else does."

Erik then let loose a double-handed ectoplasmic blast at the ghost boy, sending him plowing into the rough.

"I wanted to repay my debt to you for assaulting me at the _bal masque_ the other night."

Danny growled with irritation as he lunged at the Opera Ghost, his fists glowing green. In response, Erik's body took on the consistency of a bright blue vapor as he phased through his opponent's punches. This only further infuriated Danny, who blasted the incorporeal Phantom back with a ghost ray. All through this, Spectra and Bertrand stood on the tee, enjoying the battle that was taking place.

"Perhaps there _is _some substance to your style, child," stated Erik, who had become solid again. "Allow me to demonstrate my own!"

The fists of the Opera Ghost glowed bright blue as he charged at Danny. With much difficulty, the ghost-boy wove around his punches, which ended up splintering a few nearby trees as the fight progressed through the golf course. As Danny prepared another ghost ray, the Phantom disappeared in a swirl of blue fog.

"Where'd he go?" Danny asked to himself.

"_Here!_"

Danny looked up just in time to see Erik's cloak extend and wrap around him like a python. His vision completely obscured by the dark fabric, Danny felt crushing blows of wood against his trapped body. Suddenly, the blows ceased, and Danny was unwound from the cloak and dropped to the ground with a sickening _thud!_

The ghost boy (needless to say) was in incredible pain. He couldn't move his left arm, and his breathing was hampered by a sting in his rib-cage. As he looked around, still crumpled on the ground, he saw a flash of green light as Spectra and her assistant materialized a few feet away.

"Is he...dead?" asked Spectra in an awestruck voice.

"No," replied the Phantom. "Just injured. He won't be any threat to us now."

Erik glided towards Danny and picked him up by the scruff of his collar. The two white halos traveled along his body as he reverted back to human form.

"He's a human?" questioned Erik.

"Part-human." answered Bertrand.

"How..._interesting_. I think I'll tie off my end of the deal now."

A cold, yet burning sensation filled Danny as the Phantom glowed his ghostly blue. As his vision started to blur, Danny saw the aura change green, and its source become less pale and gaunt. The last thing Danny heard was a malevolent, spine-chilling cackle as everything went dark...

* * *

_Omigosh! Another cliffhanger! Say it ain't so!_

_I'm sorry; I don't know where that came from. I blame it on the heat of the moment._

_Anyway, keep the reviews rolling in! I do so appreciate a good critique! Once again, any plot suggestions would be great!_

_Ta-ta for now._

_Your sincerest regards,_

_Monsieur Caracal._


	6. EctoTransfusion

_Good morning everyone. Or evening. Or whatever word applies to the time of day that you're reading this._

_First of all, I must thank everyone who took the time to review my work. Your critique has given me so much inspiration to help me with my writer's block. If it wasn't for you, this little novella of mine might never have come to light. Thanks a bunch!_

_Also, I've been watching the teaser commercials for _The Ultimate Enemy_, and it looks simply spectacular! Eric Roberts as Danny's evil future self seems to be a brilliant move on Butch Hartman's part, and I'm sure David Carradine of _Kill Bill_ fame will do a great job as the time-controlling spirit Clockwork._

_Look at me here; I'm getting off track._

_Anyways, I've also changed the summary. Hope you like it!_

_Now, let's get going!

* * *

_

Chapter Six: Ecto-Transfusion

Danny awoke to the monotonous, rhythmic sounds of various forms of equipment. As he groggily opened his eyes, he saw two aquamarine orbs staring right back.

"Jazz?" he groaned.

"_Danny!_" his sister cried. "_You're alright!_" She then proceeded to encase her brother in a bone-crushing hug. Danny's ribs began to burn again.

"Quit it!" he shouted with a pained expression. Jazz released her brother and sat back down in her chair.

"Where...am I?" asked Danny.

"You're in the hospital, Danny." answered Jazz. "You've been comatose for about eight hours. Mr. Manson said that one of the golf course workers found you unconscious on the 11th hole this morning."

Danny sat up in shock, only to feel that burning sensation in his chest again. As he looked down, he realized that heavy bandaging covered his mid-torso area and his left arm was suspended in a sling.

"Don't do that," said Jazz. "The doctor said you have four bruised ribs and a dislocated collarbone. He couldn't explain why your skin is like that, though."

"What about my skin?"

Jazz took a small mirror out of her purse and gave it to her brother. As Danny looked into it, he could see what his sister meant: his skin was not its original, flesh-colored shade; rather, a pigment more akin to old paper. It also seemed tightly stretched across his muscles, as little, pulsating veins could be easily seen underneath the surface.

"Danny?" asked Jazz. He had been so absorbed in examining his injuries that he almost didn't hear her. "How did this happen?"

The image ran through Danny's mind again: _The Phantom, gripping him by the collar of his shirt, glowing his ghostly glow while Danny felt as though he were being filled with ice water..._

"I don't remember," he lied.

Jazz realized what was wrong instantly.

"Oh, I see. I'm gonna go get some coffee, alright? Be back in a minute." She planted a kiss on her brother's forehead and walked out of the room.

A thought then entered Danny's mind: what _did_ the Opera Ghost do to him? He decided to test it.

"I'm going ghost!" he cried. The halos of light appeared at his midriff and started to travel along his body.

When they reached halfway up, however, they stopped and receded.

Danny tried the process again, with the same result. A third attempt; no change.

"Why can't I go ghost?" he asked himself.

As if in response to his question, a letter suddenly materialized on Jazz's chair in a wisp of blue vapor. Danny eyed it with suspicion for a second, knowing that mist and its source. After what seemed like an eternity, he reached for the letter with his good arm and found it unsealed at the seam. His eyes then rushed back and forth as he began to read the neat, tiny script:

_Dear Mr. Phantom,_

_If you're reading this message, it means that you are still alive and that my associate's process did not quite achieve its intended results. _

_I believe it is my duty to explain: you have just been the victim of ecto-transfusion, an ancient and powerful technique that allows its user to absorb the life energy of another living being. That energy is then transferred to the user, hereby increasing his or her power and presence. The victim, drained of its life force, often dies instantly._

_You, however, being half-ghost, seem to have a resistance to this process. The ectoplasm that flows in your veins enabled you to survive. It also provided my associate with a few pleasant additions to the energy he drained from you. He thanks you for your cooperation and hopes you will take your time to heal._

_We have no plans to call on you as of yet. You are no longer in any shape to stand in our way and are therefore no threat for the time being. However, if you insist on you or your friends' interference, the consequences will be as lethal as it is within my power to make them._

_I'll be here when you get back._

_Your old pal,_

_Penelope Spectra, PhD._

Danny crushed the note between his fingers, throwing it with surprising force towards the doorway. The resounding pain in his chest was acute and concentrated as he growled with frustration.

It was then that Jazz walked back in the room, a cup of coffee in her hand.

"Danny–"

"Leave me alone!" he snapped viciously.

Jazz stood with a hurt expression for a while before she responded.

"What's wro–"

"_GET OUT!_" The entire room seemed to shake with the force of his yell. His sister hurried out of the room, genuinely frightened of what was going on, when she heard a _crunch_ beneath her feet.

Jazz picked up the crumpled piece of paper and read the message on it. Her brow furrowed with anger and disgust.

_Not exactly the mistress of subtlety, are you, Spectra?

* * *

_

Eerie light from the waning moon illuminated the darkened halls of Casper High. It was understandable why no one, not even the custodians, liked to work here at night. There was an otherworldly feel about it, like a house filled with memories of residents long past.

A heavy tap echoed through the halls with repetitive ubiquity. The noise was soon accompanied by a dark figure, holding a five-foot long staff with a brass skull that gleamed with a sinister light, stalking through the halls.

The figure turned, arriving at the office of Dr. Spectra, who sat quietly at her desk, filing her nails. A small desk lamp was the only source of illumination in the bleak, cold room. The doctor's eager green eyes wandered to the figure, not a hint of surprise in them.

"Hello," she said cooly.

The figure stepped into the light. It was that of a young, thin man of about twenty years of age. He wore a form-fitting black hazmat suit with white gloves, boots, belt and collar. On his chest was an insignia: a ghostly combination of D and P that tapered off with a spectral trail. He had messy, jet black hair and paler skin than most people. His eyes, however, were unusual: the left was a vibrant glowing green; the right one was darker and sparkled like a well polished emerald. Most noticeable of all was the white half-mask that covered the right half of his face.

"Good evening, madam," he responded in a masterful tone.

"Did the letter get to the hospital safely?"

"I observed its delivery personally."

"Excellent. The first part of my plan–"

"Of _our_ plan, you mean."

"Right. The first part of our plan is a success. May I see the results?"

The man removed the porcelain mask from his face, letting it clatter to the floor. Underneath was perfect, pristine skin, no different from that of a normal person. His nose, which had been completely obscured by said mask, was now neat and perfectly placed.

"Oh, you look so handsome, Erik!" Spectra squealed.

Erik produced a glowing blue mirror with a wave of his hand and gazed into it with a smile.

"If a bit like the ghost boy," he stated. "But I'm sure I can fix that."

"Alright," said Spectra, her tone now business-like. "Now that you've gotten what you want, I believe you have a job to do for me."

"How could I forget, my dear?" And with a whirl of blue mist, he vanished, leaving Dr. Spectra alone in her office once more.

* * *

_There we go! _

_I probably will take some more time with the next update; partially due to my writer's block and partially to my busy schedule. However, I do plan to add the next chapter as soon as I can._

_In the meantime, keep the reviews coming in! I might adapt any ideas you give me into the storyline I've designed. Don't hold back, I can take the criticism! No flames, though!_

_Now, to quote Vlad Plasmius: Until next time._

_Your sincerest regards,_

_Monsieur Caracal._


	7. Thy Evil Spirit

_Hey there, hi there, ho there!_

_Looks like I was wrong about my writer's block. I seem to be on a creative streak this week! After reading Dante's _Inferno_ for inspiration and reading your reviews, I'm back on track, baby! _

_That being said, I would like to respond to a few of my favored readers:_

_**Mina-Chan AMD:** I truly feel your plight of a tight schedule. You didn't have to wait long for more of my story!_

_**Inumaru12:** Your story is quite good. Great minds think alike I suppose. Just ask Danny and Sam._

_**Ultimate TH:** You have been the first one to make a true suggestion. I'll try to work your idea into the story; it's really good!_

_**Faith's melody:** I owe much of this streak to you, my dear. Words cannot express my gratitude._

_As much as I would love to write to my other viewers, I'd really like to start the chapter. _

_Ready, set, READ!

* * *

_

Chapter Seven: Thy Evil Spirit

This was the best time of day for Sam. The time just before daybreak, just before the sun crawled over the Eastern horizon and encompassed the world in light. The time when she could just lie in her bed and think about her dreams. The time when her dreams could most accurately be remembered.

The time when she could think.

Sam looked at the clock radio on the night stand beside her bed. It read 5:18 A.M. She would have to get up soon. The velvety music box had been left open, as it seemed to make her dreams even more vivid.

Danny and Tucker had first seen the music box about a week ago, on the day she had first gotten it. All agreed that the song was soothing, yet only Sam seemed to appreciate the beauty of the notes it strummed out. After all, it helped her get over the horrid screech of the grand piano the other day.

Sam had a basic understanding of piano music from the lessons her grandmother gave her when she was a child. Her playing could never quite match her teacher's, and she gave it up soon afterwards. The benefit from that, at least for now, was that she could at least read the notes on the music sheets that she had discovered. Apparently, _Don Juan Triumphant_ was the name of the song played on the music box.

She had made plans to show the music to Danny, who she had heard was in the hospital. As she felt around for the music, which she kept under her bed amongst a collection of punk vinyl-albums, her fingers picked up no trace of paper. Sam got off the bed and looked with her eyes, finding nothing. She spent fifteen minutes tearing apart her room looking for the piece, yet made no find.

Sam fell back onto her bed in frustration. It was then that she saw a note sticking out of the music box. Her amethyst eyes grew wide as she read the lofty red scrawl:

_Dear Samantha,_

_I give you great thanks for keeping my piece well for me. Do not bother looking for it; it is safely in my possession. Make no attempt to locate it as of now or anytime in the future._

_You may keep the box. I trust you enjoy the overture?_

_Your most humble and obedient acquaintance,_

_O.G.

* * *

_

Danny grew even crabbier the day after his assault. After his little spat with Jazz – which everyone in the wing heard, by the way – his mood had done nothing but worsen by the hour. It was almost as if Danny's former self had been drained out of his body right along with his ghost powers. The knowledge that Spectra and the Phantom were out there, free as could be to enact whatever scheme they were planning, with no one being the wiser, made him feel even worse, if that was possible.

That afternoon, after school ended, Danny heard a knock on his door.

"Come in," he growled with immense irritation.

Sam stepped into the hospital room, holding a small, velvet-covered box under her arm. Danny felt somewhat better knowing that he could finally talk to his friends again. The doctors had restricted access to his room to only allow family in, and he was in no mood to talk to any of them. He gave a weak smile in his friend's direction.

"How are you, Danny?" Sam asked.

His face drooped back into a scowl. "Lousy. I don't have my powers, I look like a human corpse, Spectra's out there with 'Erik' doing who-knows-what–"

"Hold on," interrupted the Goth. "What do you mean 'with Erik'?"

"That Phantom ghost at the party. He's working for Spectra."

Sam looked confused. "That doesn't make any sense. What would he want with Spectra?"

"Don't know. He thanked me for something in Spectra's letter, though."

"Speaking of which, I got a letter from him too." Sam handed Danny the slip of paper she had found in the music box. As Danny read, his eyes seemed to grow narrower with every sentence.

He gave a frustrated growl as he threw the paper to the floor. "They think they're _so darn smart!_" His eyes glowed green with frustration.

"Danny," said Sam, "didn't you even hear what I told you about the music he stole from me?"

The ghost boy was too busy seething in his own anger to listen. "_They just can't stand to see me happy! They just sit there, laughing as they watch me squirm! **When I get outta here, I'LL SEE HOW SMART THEY ARE WHEN I –**_"

Danny's head shot to the side with the force of the slap across his face. His eyes, which were starting to gleam red, now welled up with tears. He glared at Sam as he nursed the afflicted area.

"Calm down!" shouted Sam. "I didn't come here just to see you make a big revenge speech like some _other_ half-ghost I know!"

Danny lowered his hand from his pale, gaunt face. Was he really sounding like Vlad?

"Sorry," he said, his voice no longer a roar.

"If we're going to find out what Spectra's doing, we have to use a more subtle approach. Understand?"

Danny nodded.

They went on to discuss how all the events of the past week might have been connected to each other. After that, Danny did not become angry for the rest of the day. Sam had that kind of effect on him. It was impossible to describe, but he just felt comfortable around her.

* * *

At Casper High, misery ran rampant like the bubonic plague. Jazz made a point of avoiding Dr. Spectra and her assistant whenever she could, knowing what they had done to Danny. The very speculation of the subject angered her to no end.

Yet, sometimes confrontation was unavoidable; and when Spectra so much as said "hello" to her, she would shoot a glare that would freeze molten metal, blocking out whatever thoughts she would put in her head. However, this was easier said than done, as Spectra had already gotten to Jazz once before. She was determined not to let that happen again.

As Jazz shut her locker, she saw Spectra striding down the hallway, filling the vicinity with her vivacious, yet icy presence. Jazz made a mad dash to avoid the doctor, dodging through several depressed freshmen to reach another hallway before she was spotted. As she was looking over her shoulder almost every five seconds, she did not see Mr. Lancer in front of her until they were mere inches apart.

"_Zorba the Greek!_" exclaimed the vice-principal in his usual way. "Would you please watch where you're going, Miss Fenton!"

"Sorry, Mr. Lancer! I'm kinda in a hurry, so if–"

"While you're here," Lancer interrupted, "I might as well introduce you to our new music teacher. Come out here, my good man!"

A tall, thin man in his mid-twenties stepped out of Lancer's office. He wore a medium-length beige coat over his gray suit-jacket, and sported a matching fedora. Jazz also noticed that he bore an extraordinary resemblance to her little brother, as he had slicked-back jet black hair, kind green eyes, and the exact same facial build.

"Miss Fenton," said Lancer, "meet Mr.–"

"Claudine. Erik Claudine, at your service."

Mr. Claudine offered his abnormally long-fingered hand to Jazz, who shook it politely. There was something familiar about this man that she didn't like...

"Nice to meet you, Miss Fenton," said the man with a voice like that of a British schoolmaster. "Hopefully our paths will cross again soon. Goodbye." With that, Lancer and Claudine walked back into the office.

Jazz looked at the had that Claudine had shaken: it was dusted with a sparkling, green powder that almost seemed to glow.

The bell rang, signaling the one-minute warning for the start of the day. All current thoughts were pushed out of Jazz's mid as she hurried off to her Psychology class.

* * *

_I apologize for the shortness of the chapter, but my tangible plot line has ended here for now_. _I'll try to make the next chapter longer, I promise!_

_By the way, keep the reviews coming, please! The future of this story is at hand!_

_I'm sure we'll have loads of fun!_

_Your sincerest regards_,

_Monsieur Caracal._


	8. Claudine the Composer

_Greetings once more!_

_A big thanks to all of you who, through your reviews, have helped me to create this story! I honestly don't know where I'd be without you people!_

_This chapter is a bit longer than my others, at your request. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!_

_Now, let's get to it!_

Chapter Eight: Claudine the Composer

Danny was no longer angry. Rather, his frustration had dissolved into depression the minute Sam left his hospital room. It was as though he were mourning over the death of a relative that he had never heard of, seen, or met.

Beyond his rock-bottom mood, Danny could feel his strength coming back to him over the next few days. He had finally managed to complete his transformation, but still could not use any of his greater or complex powers.

He needed that strength too: he was scheduled for surgery in about half an hour.

As he lay in his hospital bed, his sister peeked around the door.

"Hi, Danny," she said meekly. She was obviously afraid that her brother would yell at her again.

"Hi, Jazz," he replied dejectedly. "Come in."

Jazz walked over to the chair beside Danny's bed and sat down, never taking her eyes off him the whole time.

"Is something wrong?" she asked. "Am I bothering you?"

Danny gave a weak smile. "No. I'm just feeling a little down, is all."

"I heard you were going into surgery."

"Yeah. Apparently, a piece of my collarbone snapped off when I got hit against–I mean...when I fell out of that tree." Danny smirked embarrassedly; he hadn't taken the time to invent a credible story for his presence on the golf course yet.

"Oh my... Doesn't it hurt?

"Only when I move my arm."

Jazz smiled warmly. Her brother was definitely in a better mood; at least compared to the people at school.

"Danny, you know I think you're great, right?"

Her brother sighed. "Yeah. You said that once before, didn't you?"

"Right, and I mean it this time, too."

It was at this point that a doctor, dressed in a green surgical gown, stepped through the door.

"Alright, Mr. Fenton," he said drably. "The OR's ready. We can get on with your surgery now."

"Bye, Jazz," said Danny as he was switched onto a gurney.

Jazz gave no reply; merely, she waved until her brother passed through the doors, gazing at his innocent face until the last.

* * *

The plan was simple: Danny and Sam had notified Tucker of the connections they had made between Spectra and the Phantom, but said that they needed more evidence to cinch their suspicions. So, all three agreed that Sam and Tucker would take turns staying after school, spying on the doctor and her assistant's activities.

Today was Tucker's turn.

"Camera on," he said to himself. The monitor on his PDA lit up with a miniature version of the hallway as the camcorder he had built into it clicked on.

It seemed like an eternity before Tucker found anything of real evidence as he was skulking outside Spectra's office. About half an hour into the scouting mission, he heard music coming from down the hallway, near where Danny's locker was.

_What's that? _he thought.

Tucker left the office behind as he followed the music. It had a hauntingly beautiful quality to it, like Sam's music box, he recalled. As the techno-geek turned into the band room, his green eyes widened with mild surprise.

In one corner of the room, an immense pipe organ embroidered with gold paneling and red velvet sat in place. At the keys was a tall, thin man wearing a gray suit-jacket, playing with tortured, pained movement. The sight was incredibly bizarre for a man playing an organ.

"Hello, young man," said the man without altering his action or position.

Tucker was now genuinely startled. This man had known he was there without even turning around to face him.

"H–Hello," stammered Tucker.

"Don't just stand there, come in!"

The teen slowly walked into the room: he had never been inside here before. An orchestra pit dominated the center, with music stands lined up along each level. On the side of the room opposite the organ, a collection of violins of all shapes and sizes lay against the wall. He went over to the man, who was finishing the cadenza on his organ. As the last note reverberated throughout the room, the organist turned around, staring at Tucker with green, mismatched eyes...Danny's eyes.

"And who might you be?" asked the mystery pianist.

"Tucker Foley. Who're you?"

The man stood up, drawing himself to his full height. "My name is Mr. Claudine. I'm the school's new symphonic band conductor and instructor."

"Oh, I got it." As Tucker started to leave, his PDA, in a holster on his belt, picked up a series of red notes on an ancient-looking piece of paper.

"Uh, sir?" he asked. "What were you playing, anyways?"

Claudine cocked an eyebrow in surprise. "Oh, this? It's a song I've been working on. Took me almost a third of my life to complete. Do you like it?"

"Oh–uh–yeah!" stammered Tucker quickly.

"It's a wonderful thing, music," mused Claudine as he sat down at his bench. "Man's highest and most sophisticated art form. No matter what the song says, it's the fact that it's music that counts. It justifies everything we do in its service, good or ill, don't you agree?"

There was no answer.

"Hello?"

Again, no reply.

The tall, thin man turned around to face Tucker, but there was no one there. His forehead creased beneath his slicked-back hair.

Tucker was now running as fast as he could towards the school exit, fumbling with his PDA to turn off the camcorder. He had already gotten what he needed, and there was no reason to stay in the room with that creepy man any longer.

Once safely outside the school, Tucker went through his pocket, taking out a pair of lime-green earphones. He put each one into its respective ear and turned them on.

"Sam," Tucker spoke into the Fenton-Phones. "It's me. I think we've found our man."

* * *

A ritzy mansion that once belonged to the founder of Amity Park lay on the northernmost extremities of the town. For about twenty-five years, the house lay abandoned, no one having enough money or influence to pay for it. Now, there were lights on in the house, people moving around inside, and all-around activity going on.

There was a simple explanation: according to the census, the house now belonged to a certain Dr. Penelope Spectra and Dr. Bert Rand.

Erik, entering the vicinity in gaseous form under cover of night, materialized outside to admire the house. It was a tall, gothic mansion, completely painted in shades of gray. Four spires dominated the corners, surrounding a courtyard bordered by fortress-like walls. The lawn which had fallen into disrepair, was the color of old hay. It was the classic haunted house.

He phased inside, coming into a foyer that looked as though it had come straight out of the Baroque Period of Austria. Erik himself had taken the liberty of modeling it after the grand atrium of the Opera Garnier, his last home and domain.

Silently, he walked through a series of long and winding corridors until he came upon a lavish lounge, a fire roaring underneath the hearth. Spectra and Bertrand were seated comfortably in two plush, chintz armchairs, apparently enjoying the moment for all it was worth. Both were in their evening wear: Spectra wore a red silk evening gown; Bertrand a maroon ascot, smoking jacket, and cap.

"Good evening, my dears," said Erik as he stepped into the light. His cloak, slouch hat, and tuxedo were in place, as always, yet the color scheme was different: what had once been all different shades now was only black and white.

"Why hello, Erik," said Penelope in a pleasantly surprised tone. "You're right on time."

"Unlike some people." Erik glanced right at Bertrand, who scowled back.

"So," continued Spectra, "I trust you had luck?"

"Of course, Madam." The Opera Ghost produced a large vial of glowing green matter from the folds of his cloak. It seemed to undulate with raw, untapped energy.

"Oh goody! Bertrand, be a dear and bring the vial to me." There was a child-like innocence in her voice.

"Why can't he come over there?" whined Bertrand.

"Because I outrank you; now move!"

Bertrand floated over to Erik, shooting daggers from his eyes at his colleague. The cloaked man handed him the vial, which he then gave to Spectra. As she opened the lid, glowing green mist drifted out of it, circulating around her head. Penelope breathed it in, replenishing her youth once again.

"I'm gonna miss these kids," she sighed. "Honestly, how do you do it, Erik?"

"The music brings out the emotion of the composer and directs it at the audience," explained the Opera Ghost. "That, my dear, is the result of just one song."

"Impressive," mused Spectra. "Then our plan's going off without a hitch. Another few weeks of this, and we'll be looking young forever!"

"There's one problem," Bertrand chimed in. "The ghost kid's due to be released from the hospital within a matter of days. When he gets back, he'll head right for us."

"I already told you," said Erik, irked to no end. "Even _if_ he's well, he'll be in no shape to fight us. He barely posed a threat at his full power."

"Then it's settled," said Penelope, sipping a flute of water. "We draw him into our grasp before he gets his power back."

Erik poured his own glass. "Naturally. A toast!"

All three raised their water glasses, which gleamed in the firelight.

"To our eternal afterlives, and the beauty that is destined to pervade them for eternity!"

Spectra smiled. Her wishes were about to be fufilled...

* * *

_Voila!_

_I apologize to all my readers for taking so long with this update, but I wanted to make it good! Once again, thanks for all your reviews! Send more!_

_Your sincerest regards,_

_Monsieur Caracal._


	9. The Ghost and the Scorpion

_Hi ho, tinfoil! Away!_

_Sorry. I'm in a really peppy mood today._

_I see I made you happy with my new and improved longer chapters. With this, I've only got a couple of more to go, thanks to Ultimate TH's suggestion._

_And now, a reply to all the reviewers of my latest chapter:_

_**Ultimate TH:** Thanks for the idea! I made the chappie longer just for you!_

_**Mina-chan AMD: **I'm glad you understood about the length between chapters. You were there at the beginning, and I hope you'll stick with me till the end!_

_**xheatrkreuzx:** I see we have a new reader! Welcome to the inner sanctum! I hope you'll be satisfied!_

_**Faith's melody: **My old friend! Thanks for your commentary. And about your theory on Erik: not everything's that cut-and-dry..._

_As for my other readers, don't worry! I haven't forgotten you!_

_Now, commence au festival!_

Chapter Nine: The Ghost and the Scorpion  


Erik grinned triumphantly thinking of his plan. He had gone through all the trouble of pushing the PTA meeting to tonight and convincing Principal Ishyama to host it in the school auditorium, where he and Bertrand could move about freely.

The plan had been gone through a hundred times in his mind; so much, in fact, that he could compose a piece of music based on it on the spot. The only thing that could stop him was the ghost boy, and even _that_ was unlikely. In order to be safe, however, it had to be done tonight.

The door behind the Opera Ghost opened; startling him to transform back into Mr. Claudine. He turned around to find Penelope Spectra, a clipboard in hand, standing in his doorway wearing her standard, eager expression.

"Oh, thank heaven..." Erik sighed as his suit jacket and fedora transformed back into his standard tuxedo, cloak, and slouch hat.

"How's everything going along?" Spectra asked, looking at her clipboard.

"Smooth as silk. Jeremy Manson will be there, the ghost boy won't, and I'll tie off the last loose end in this plan."

"Great."

Erik looked into the mirror on his wall. In it, he saw Danny Fenton's boyish reflection, with Danny Phantom's green eyes. It was amazing what the ecto-transfusion had done for his looks, as well as his powers. Soon, the quarry that had avoided him about a week ago would get his eternal reward...

* * *

"I still don't see why we didn't get an invite." complained Jack.

"It was probably a fluke, Dad. Things like that go wrong sometimes."

Jazz liked to play a part in the PTA meetings at Casper High. It made her feel as though she were steering the destiny of hundreds of young souls towards happy and prosperous futures. After all, she _was_ an adult; psychologically, that is.

After the ghost invasion by Danny Phantom, which was later proved to be planned by another ghost, Jack and Maddie were often called upon by the school for their services. They installed ghost detection equipment, lectured the staff, and were currently working on an ecto-resin to put on all the lockers.

Today's meeting, however, was hosted by Mr. Claudine, and centered around his suggestion to include string instruments in the symphonic band. Claudine, in his gray suit jacket and fedora, stood at the auditorium podium, orating endlessly about his experience in the Seattle Philharmonic Orchestra. Dr. Spectra and Lancer sat behind him, the former with an expression of utter smugness.

Jazz had suspected Claudine of something ever since she first met him. Under a microscope, the green powder on her hand that the music teacher shook was revealed to have a pseudo-cell structure, much like that of viruses.

The substance was ectoplasm.

Erik Claudine had been in contact with ghosts.

Ghosts that were preying upon the student body like hungry vultures.

"...and I fondly believe," continued the music teacher, "that if we are to realize the full musical potential of our students, we should introduce the fourth and final branch of the musical family into our band." There was light applause as he stepped off the podium.

"Thank you, Erik, for that...inspiring speech," said Lancer as he got up. "Now, for the financial side of this suggestion–"

A low rumbling cut the vice principal off in the middle of his sentence. The room fell eerily silent. Everyone except Spectra and Claudine had looks of horror and worry on their faces.

Maddie took a small, boxy device from out of a holster on her belt. The Fenton Finder was beeping like crazy.

Before anyone could react, a giant green tail, complete with stinger on its tip, shot out of the floor like a sapling. With a large amount of splintered wood, it was followed by a glowing green scorpion roughly the size of a minivan. People started to scream and run as chaos overtook the room.

Over the cacophony, Jack's bellow could be heard: "Ghost! Ghost! GHOST!"

"Jazz, get to safety!" her mother yelled. Jazz followed suit, hiding behind a door, where she could get a good view of the fight.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Jack and Maddie unsheathed their ghost-hunting weapons; Maddie a glowing green staff, Jack his favorite: the Jack-o-nine-tails.

While the battle ensued, Jazz noticed that someone was standing next to her: Mr. and Mrs. Manson. The former was cowering behind the door, covering his eyes; the latter writing something down on a clipboard.

"_That_ is objectionable," stated Mrs. Manson simply.

Jazz noticed something else too: Claudine was perched on a rafter above her parents, bearing an uncanny resemblance to a gargoyle in his gray-shaded uniform. Out of nowhere, he conjured a long section of glowing green rope, which twisted into a slipknot and hovered next to the teacher.

It was worse than Jazz thought: Claudine wasn't in contact with ghosts, he _was_ a ghost!

The lasso twirled downwards like a whip, in Mr. Manson's general direction.

"Look out!" Jazz tackled the fair-haired man out of the way as the rope phased through the wall and whipped through empty air. In the auditorium, the scorpion knocked Maddie back with one of its pincers, knocking her Fenton Utility Weapon, a piece of green lipstick, out the door and to Jazz's feet.

Claudine leaped down from the rafters, unnoticed by the screaming people in the room, phased through the wall, and landed in proximity to the three people. In a flash of green smoke, his suit jacket transformed into a fine tuxedo and cloak, his fedora into a floppy black slouch hat. His mismatched green eyes now glowed with an intensity comparable to molten steel.

"Stand aside, bratling!" he commanded with a voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Jazz didn't reply; instead, she made a dive for the lipstick as Claudine's lasso once again whipped through the air. She fired off a shot, which her opponent blocked with a shimmering green energy wall.

"Hiding in the school as a teacher?" There was a mocking defiance in Jazz's voice that signified she wasn't afraid. "That's a pretty cheap parlor trick for you, Phantom."

The Opera Ghost's eyes burned with hatred. "Really? Let's see how smart you are once I snap your head off your spine!" His lasso once again lashed at Jazz, who simply shot it out of the air.

_Hmm,_ she thought, _I must have inherited my shot from Mom. Cool!_

As the ghost prepared an energy blast to answer his humiliation, the scorpion came crashing through the auditorium, plowing the Phantom into the floor. The giant insect started to churn and boil, transforming into a glowing green blob of ectoplasm.

"Bertrand, you idiot!" snapped the Opera Ghost. "I specifically said _not _to invite the Fentons!"

"I didn't!" snipped the blob with a know-it-all tone.

"Well, the plan's botched now..." the Phantom turned his attention back to Jazz. "Just one more head on my list!" And with a whirl of his cloak, he vanished in a puff of green mist.

Jazz collapsed to her knees, exhausted from the ordeal she had been forced to go through. Mr. Manson, trembling with fear, helped her to her feet.

Maddie and Jack, still brandishing their weaponry, numerous tears in their jumpsuits, burst through the door.

"Jazz, are you alright? Where'd they go?" her mother managed between heavy breathing.

"They vanished!" Mrs. Manson exclaimed in an astonished voice.

"We got a runner!" Jack yelled as he and Maddie dashed outside.

A wry grin crept across Jazz's lips; she had uncovered Claudine and held her own against him. As much as she hated to admit it, she sorta liked ghost hunting.

Still, now both her and her brother were in mortal danger now...

* * *

_Ta-da!_

_Sorry for taking so long to update, but I haven't gotten much computer time thanks to my annoying little cyst of a brother._

_R and R, please! Your opinions are my lifeblood!_

_Your sincerest regards,_

_Monsieur Caracal. _


	10. Insult to Injury

_Salut, friends!_

_Sorry I haven't been able to keep the updates flowing in as fast as I'd like, but I've got even more brilliant ideas for my story! _

_Oh, and Firestar9mm, thanks for your critique! I love your work, and hope you'll update soon._

_Alright then, let's take off!

* * *

_

Chapter Ten: Insult to Injury  


"I'm telling you, it wasn't my fault!" yelled Bertrand once again as he nursed the burns he had sustained from the battle.

"Maybe so," said Erik dryly, "but you were the one who ruined my attempt. And now it's your fault that we have to fly, because I can't teleport accurately anymore!"

The two had not stopped arguing the entire time during their unseen flight to Casper High. Both had sustained grievous injuries in the battle yesterday, and were in a worse mood than any other time they had spent together.

They landed on the roof and phased into Spectra's office, where the doctor herself sat filing her nails. Their argument still persisted.

"Well maybe if you hadn't crushed me under that overweight carapace of yours–"

"QUIET!" Spectra yelled with sudden fury. The argument stopped there.

"Now..." her voice changed as though she had never yelled. "We can't let this get in the way of our long term goals. Is that plan of yours complete yet, Erik?"

Erik seemed incredibly annoyed. "How can I make a powerful enough compound to perform this task if you don't have any information on the topic?"

"Well, I don't know!" There was more than a hint of sarcasm in her voice. "Anyway, there are more important matters at hand..."

* * *

Danny walked through the halls, wincing at the dull pain in his ribs. As with everyone else, he took care to avoid the auditorium, which had been torn apart in the recent battle at the PTA meeting. As a result, all gym classes were canceled until further notice, and were to be taken over the summer. This proved devastating for the social lives of the jocks, whose entire popularity centered around their prowess in this class. 

Danny's surgery had gone off without a hitch; the sliver of his collarbone had replaced with a piece of titanium, and the disgusting pigmentation of his skin was nearly gone. However, his ribs were still encased in the restrictive bandages, and stabbed at his innards every time he took a step. The doctors had warned him to stay away from strenuous activity, and his sister seemed more than happy to help him with everyday tasks.

The good side was that ghost attacks, putting aside those of the Phantom and Bertrand, had ceased for a few days. This was most likely to the recent invasion of Pariah Dark, who had obliterated most of the realms in the Ghost Zone. The bad side was that he was within easy reach of Spectra now, and he could not fight without risking further injury. Also, he had not fully gained his powers back yet, only managing a fingertip ghost ray at best.

It was at this time when Dash Baxter bumped into Danny, making him wince with pain.

"Hey!" blurted out Dash. "Watch it, Fen-Toad!"

"Could you just get out of my way?" Danny asked bitingly.

Dash's eyes seemed to show a sense of caring right before they changed color entirely: now they were a fiery blood red.

"_Make me!_" the jock roared in a voice that was not his own. He then swung his fist into the smaller teen's rib-cage, producing a noise similar to breaking Styrofoam. Danny sunk to the floor in extreme pain, clutching his mid-section as if he had been stabbed, which it sure felt as though happened.

Dash was in the middle of a malevolent laugh when Mr. Lancer, Dr. Spectra, and a man in a gray suit jacket rounded the corner. Upon seeing the two teens, the vice principal launched into a shout:

"_Principa Discordia!_ What is going on here?"

The jock's eyes reverted back to their standard color as he adopted an expression that was both confused and horrified.

"Wha–I–you–" he managed to stammer out.

"This is inexcusable!" Lancer continued to shout. "Suspension for you, Mr. Baxter!"

"Indeed," chimed the man in gray. "Adolescents today are so desensitized."

The man helped Danny to his feet. As he grasped his hand, Danny noticed this man was very cold to the touch, not to mention his voice was a little familiar. He put it off, having the pain in his ribs; the blue mist that came out of his mouth he could attribute to Spectra anyway.

"Oh my, I forgot to introduce myself, haven't I?" said the man. "I'm Mr. Claudine, the school's new music teacher."

"Back to the matter at hand," interrupted Spectra. "This young man's parents can't just be left unaware of this. I suggest that I go over and talk to them."

"Top drawer idea, madam!" exclaimed Claudine. "What do you say, Lancer?"

"Sounds like a good idea to me." said the vice-principal.

"Hey!" shouted Danny painfully. "Don't I get a say in this?"

"Now, Danny," Spectra sounded as though she were talking to an infant. "We can't let things like this go unnoticed. I'll be over at 8:00. Toodles!"

Spectra walked away with Dash as Lancer and Claudine helped Danny along to his English class, the teen wincing in pain all the way.

* * *

During his time at home, Danny was to stay in bed at all times unless it was absolutely necessary for him to get up. Otherwise, Jazz did nearly everything for him: brought him his meals, cleaned his room, helped him with his homework; she might have even breathed for him the way things were going. To Danny, this was incredibly suspicious, as his sister didn't help him at earlier times when he was sick. 

Outside, he heard the roar of a car engine coming to a halt. When he looked out the window, he saw Penelope Spectra in a red Ferrari that perfectly matched her Chanelle suit. She stepped out of the sports car and disappeared from view as she went to the Fenton's door. Danny could hear the ring of the doorbell as one of his greatest enemies entered his house to discuss his "traumatic ordeal" with his parents.

An idea popped into his head; he phased through the floor, wincing at the pain of the effort he had to put into it, and became invisible when he reached the kitchen. His parents were sitting at the table while Spectra took a folder out of her briefcase.

For the rest of the evening, Penelope rambled on about mental scarring and depression as Jack and Maddie listened, apparently intent on every word. It was extremely boring to Danny, who was now in great pain from the effort he was making to stay invisible. Suddenly, he heard a tickering sound from the basement and phased down to investigate.

A blue mist escaped his lips as he saw Bertrand, in his standard blobish form, typing away on the keys of the mainframe computer and focusing intently on the screen. Danny stayed invisible, grinding his teeth in pain. He couldn't afford to fight right now.

Bertrand stopped tickering away long enough to withdraw a CD-ROM from the disc drive. A pocket opened up on his side, in which he placed said disc. Then, with nonchalance, he shut down the computer and flew through the ceiling and out of sight.

Danny flew back up to his room, remaining unseen the whole time. By the time he was back in his bed, he was cringing from the stabbing sensation in his ribs. He looked out the window for the next few minutes, hoping to see where the snippy little shapeshifter had gone.

After what seemed an eternity, Penelope Spectra walked out their door, bidding good health to Danny. As she got in her sleek German car, Bertrand appeared, this time in human form, in the passenger's seat.

"Did you get it?" Spectra's voice was barely audible as she started the car engine.

"Of course," replied Bertrand. "It wasn't exactly as easy as switching on the kitchen light, but I got the file."

"Great! You up for a cappuccino?"

"You bet!" And with that, the car tore down the road, disappearing from view.

Danny plopped down on his bed. He couldn't believe that it would be so easy for them. Two of his worst enemies had just made off with who-knows-what in a bright red Ferrari.

_Whoa, _he thought. _There's something you don't hear every day.

* * *

_

_And there you have it!_

_Keep the reviews coming in! I just adore you all!_

_Your sincerest regards,_

_Monsieur Caracal._


	11. OG the Mastermind

_Hello, once again!_

_I hope all of my readers are enjoying my longer chapters; they're making things so much easier for all of us. The storyline has been cemented in place now, thanks to the reviews that you all have been sending me!_

_Also, a disclaimer: the song isn't mine. It was written by someone whose name I don't know._

_Now, let's rock!

* * *

_

Chapter Eleven: O.G. the Mastermind

"This is all just too confusing," muttered Danny.

"What?" asked Tucker. "It doesn't seem that complicated to me."

Danny looked at his friend with a mixture of annoyance and misunderstanding. He had called Sam and Tucker over to help him recap on what had happened in the past week, since they hadn't visited him in the hospital for quite some time. Now that he was back at home, he could see his friends on a regular basis again.

"Are you telling me that Spectra coming back, a looney opera ghost from an old story teaming up with her, me being vampirized, and Bertrand stealing something off the Fenton Mainframe isn't complicated?" Danny winced at further pain from his ribs.

"Not at all," Tucker replied. "I've been at work trying to find out what he took, but my PDA hasn't been able to find anything yet."

"But it should show up, right?" asked Sam.

"This is the problem," explained Tucker, "Bertrand used some kind of backdoor file to turn the key-checks off on the safety systems, so we can't look through the keystrokes to find what he did. All this leads to a file on the image folder: _whiteshrd.obj._ It looks like a Trojan, but I can't be sure. The only way to find the command that he used is to go through the individual lines of code one by one."

Danny blinked comically. He had not understood a word that his friend had said. "In English?" he asked.

"He used a virus to hack into your computer and cover his tracks. It'll take me about an hour to find the command."

The other two groaned with exasperation.

"This is ridiculous," sighed Danny. "Why don't we just fly down there and make Spectra tell us?"

"No," said Sam sternly. "I'm not gonna let you get pounded into paste again."

Tucker smiled at this. "Aww! Aren't you two cute, the way you care about each other!"

Danny and Sam blushed. Their so-called crushes on each other had been the topic of speculation for months in many social circles. Some said that it was only a matter of time before they got together. But of course, the two denied having any sort of intimate relationship, despite what it may look like.

"Well, would you look at the time!" said Sam out of the blue. "I gotta get over to the school to...uh..."

"Spy on Spectra?" Tucker filled in.

"Yeah!" Sam walked out of the room, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. As she went outside to her electric scooter, she didn't notice a pink sedan following her about three car lengths behind. A bumper sticker on its rear bumper read: "HAVE YOU HUGGED YOUR INNER CHILD TODAY?"

* * *

It was hard to dodge the students that were here for the football game as Sam arrived at Casper High. However, it seemed like the inappropriate weather for a game, as she could hear the roll of distant thunder in the clouds to the South. No matter; she had other things to worry about.

Sam was walking towards the office of Penelope Spectra when she heard lively music and singing coming from the room at the end of the hall:

_**I've got you under my skin**_

_**I've got you deep in the heart of me**_

_**So deep in my heart than you're really a part of me**_

_**I've got you under my skin**_

The song was extremely cheesy for the modern era, making Sam wonder why anyone would listen to it, let alone sing along to it. She decided to investigate and walked down the hall.

_**I tried so not to give in**_

_**I said to myself 'this affair, it never will go so well'**_

_**But why should I try to resist when, baby I know darn well**_

_**That I've got you under my skin**_

The goth stopped at the door, remembering what Tucker had said: he thought that Claudine, the new music teacher, was the ghost that stole the music sheets from Sam a few nights back. Sam didn't believe him, saying that we couldn't just blurt out that anyone might be a ghost. Still, it didn't hurt to be careful.

_**I'd sacrifice anything, come what might**_

_**For the ake of having you near, in spite**_

_**Of a warning voice that comes in the night**_

_**And repeats, repeats in my ear:**_

'_**Don't you know you fool? You never can win**_

_**Use your mentality; wake up to reality'**_

_**But each time I do, just the thought of you makes me stop before I begin**_

_**Because I've got you under my skin**_

As the bridge to the music started, Sam eased open the door. There, dancing alone in the orchestra pit of the band room, eyes closed, was Mr. Claudine in his gray suit-jacket and fedora. He had picked up a violin and was playing along to the music of the bridge. Sam had to stifle a giggle; the whole display looked utterly embarrassing. Claudine then proceeded to throw the violin to a corner of the room as the bridge ceased, and he continued to sing:

_**I would sacrifice anything, come what might**_

_**For the sake of having you near, in spite**_

_**Of a warning voice that comes in the night**_

_**And repeats, how it yells in my ear:**_

'_**Don't you know you fool? Ain't no chance to win!**_

_**Why not use your mentality? Get up, wake up to reality'**_

**_And each time I do, just the thought of you makes me stop just before I begin_**–

The music teacher whirled around to face Sam, his eyes suddenly open. He yelped in utter surprise, obviously thinking he had been alone. The teen's snicker grew into raucous laughter as Claudine turned off the CD player and tried to compose himself.

"You–door–knock!" he managed to get out.

"Sorry," giggled Sam. "I didn't know you'd be doing anything so embarrassing."

"Shouldn't you be outside?" asked Claudine quizzically.

"I'm not here for the football game."

The teacher raised a brow. "Then why are you here?"

"Um..." Sam couldn't think up a credible answer.

"No matter," continued Claudine. "I need your opinion on something, anyway."

As she followed him to the pipe organ, Sam began to wonder what had made Tucker think that Claudine was a ghost in the first place. Spectra radiated her own special brand of menace, but this man seemed about as sinister as Walt Disney.

Still, she couldn't help but notice that Claudine had the same eyes as Danny...

Those thoughts were shooed out of her head as organ music filled the room. It was a bit like the music from Sam's box, hauntingly beautiful and mysterious. However, the notes were far different: it seemed like a cross between a wedding march and a funeral mass. As the last note reverberated through the room, Claudine turned around to face the goth, his mismatched eyes wide and expectant.

"Well...what do you think?"

Sam was just about to answer that question when she saw the music sheet: it was written entirely in red, faded notes and bound into what looked like an enormous manuscript. On the other side, another set of notes, also in red ink, were bound into it; the wavy writing at the top all too familiar:

_Don Juan Triumphant_

Sam started to back away, reaching for the Specter-Deflector she had stored in her backpack. As she felt the buckle of the belt-like device, Claudine's expectant expression crumbled away into a snarl as he lunged at the girl, knocking the backpack to the floor.

"Penny was right," said Claudine, the dry warble in his voice gone. "You _are_ smarter than your age would imply."

Two halos of light shot out of the man's mid-section, traveling vertically along his body in opposite directions; just like Danny. His gray suit-jacket and fedora were immediately replaced with a fine tuxedo, an opera cloak, and a floppy, black slouch hat. His silk-gloved hands were now wrung into fists as he stared down at Sam, his eyes burning with arrogance.

"Did you really think that _you_ would be able to stop me when your friend was hospitalized from my efforts?" The Opera Ghost grinned as he said this, revealing small, sharp-looking teeth that were the color of polished ivory.

Sam got to her feet. "It was a thought," she said dryly, not showing her true fear.

"Don't waste time thinking," said O.G. "After all, it may be the last thought you'll ever have alive."

The ghost walked up to the goth and drew his cloak about them. Immediately, Sam felt light-headed and numb as the world dissolved into darkness around her...

* * *

"It's done!" exclaimed Tucker as his PDA started to beep.

"Finally!" sighed Danny, who winced at the pain in his ribs.

Both teens read the small screen of the hand-held computer, looking for the right combination of code. At last, they came to a piece containing _whiteshrd.obj. _In the line was a file called _Fentonworks Inventions and Compounds_, and within that same line was a particular file: _EC2._

"What does it mean?" asked Danny.

Tucker's eyes went wide with fright as he read through the feed. "Oh my..."

"What?"

"WE HAVE TO GET DOWN THERE NOW!" Tucker's scream hurt Danny's ears.

"What do you mean? What's EC2?"

"Never mind that! Just go ghost and get down to the school! I'll follow you!"

"But I–"

"Never mind your ribs! This is a matter of life and death!"

Upon hearing that, Danny sat up, wincing at the pain. He transformed into Danny Phantom and floated in midair, his ribs feeling slightly less pained from no pressure on them.

"How fast can you fly?" Tucker asked.

"I don't know," replied Danny. "I'll try to clock forty, just to be safe."

"Got it!" And with that, the ghost-boy got his backpack of Fentonworks gadgets, phased through his window and shot off towards the school, Tucker following closely behind on his scooter.

* * *

_There we go!_

_I'm gonna have to spend some more time on the next chapter, as it's quite longer than the other two. Keep with me, people, and keep the reviews coming in!_

_Until another day._

_Your sincerest regards,_

_Monsieur Caracal._


	12. Terminal Delusion

_I love the smell of fanfiction in the morning. It smells like...victory! Or ink._

_I've only got one more chapter to go, and I hope you all like the conclusion I've made for you. It's not in this chapter, don't get your hopes up. The point is that my story's almost done!_

_Now let's broaden our minds! Lawrence:man off screen starts to play music:_

_

* * *

_  
Chapter Twelve: Terminal Delusion

Sam opened her eyes blearily. The room was dark, illuminated by only a few stray lamps and a pile of glowing green crates. Alongside these boxes were Spectra and the Opera Ghost, the latter jotting down writing on a clipboard as he floated along.

When Sam tried to move, she found that she couldn't. As she looked up and down, she fount the reason why: her wrists and ankles were bound with glowing green cuffs, attached to a concrete wall. She also realized that her backpack was on a nearby steel table, its contents strewn all over.

As she grunted against her restraints, O.G. turned to face her, his form a menacing silhouette.

"Oh good. You're up," he said nonchalantly.

"Where am I? Who are you? What did you do to Danny?" yelled Sam.

The ghost's smile melted into an arrogant sneer. "In order: about fifty meters under school property in a specially designed bunker; I'm Erik, patron ghost of the Opera Garnier; and your little boyfriend has been the victim of my brilliant plan."

"Boyfriend?" queried Sam. "Danny's not my boyfriend."

"Whatever," said Erik. "The important matter is that the final phase of my plan is about to be complete, and there's nothing that you or your boyfriend–"

"HE'S NOT MY BOYFRIEND!"

"Whatever; there's nothing anyone can do to stop us!"

Sam looked from Erik towards the glowing green crates.

"What are those?" she asked, calmly this time.

"Those," said Erik, "are crates filled with approximately six hundred pounds of the deadliest plastic explosive compound known to either man or ghost: EC2."

Sam thought for a second. "That's what you must have taken off the Fenton Mainframe," she thought out loud.

"You really are quite bright. Can you figure out what EC2 does?"

Sam glared defiantly.

"No? It is an ectoplasmically-powered explosive. One tablespoon has the destructive power to disintegrate a 10x10 foot block of concrete. Imagine what all this can do to Casper High..." He laughed maliciously, sending chills down Sam's spine.

"You won't win," she said with defiance. "Danny will stop you."

"Danny?" asked Erik mockingly. "Danny, you say? I'm counting on that." And he phased through the ceiling and out of sight.

Sam stopped struggling against the manacles to think: _How was she going to escape this? _

Her thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Penelope Spectra: "You don't really think you'll win, do you?"

Sam smiled coldly. "Things change."

"How confident," said the doctor. "Even if Danny manages to get here in time to stop the EC2 canisters from going off, he's still doomed to die."

These words cut through Sam like a dagger. "You're lying!" she yelled. "Your little friend doesn't stand a chance against him! Danny's gotten through worse things than this!"

"It's not my friend he should worry about," stated Spectra. "It's what he gave him."

The teen was puzzled.

"You see," Spectra continued, "when Erik used the ecto-transfusion to sap away Danny's powers, the process had the partial effect of a mosquito bite. The transfusion infected Danny with the same thing that killed Erik in 1897. See, in addition to making his skin that disgusting color, Danny is now only hours, maybe minutes away from a massive brain aneurism."

Sam's eyes shot wide. An aneurism anywhere had the potential to be fatal, but a blood vessel bursting in the brain from atrophic stress was incurable and instantly fatal. If what Spectra was saying was true, Danny would be dead even before he got a chance to fight.

"Oh don't worry," said Spectra playfully. "He won't feel any pain except for a really bad headache. He'll just be gone," she snapped her fingers, "like that. Besides, the chances of you two ending up together were pretty much nonexistent anyway!" She laughed as she left Sam's sight, walking into the darkness.

A tear rolled down her cheek at the thought of it...

* * *

Danny became invisible as he flew over the football field. It was packed with spectators for the game tonight, who were oblivious to the drizzling rain. In the distance he heard the rumble of thunder as dark clouds gathered in the dimming light. As he winced at the pain in his ribs, he took out his cell phone, calling Tucker on the ground.

"So this EC2 is some kind of ecto-explosive?" he asked.

"Yeah," replied Tucker. "And with the supplies he stole, he probably has enough to take out half the city. At least the energy he took from you emits a homing signal like yours. Meanwhile, I'm gonna go look for Sam."

Danny looked at the screen of his phone; two green dots lined up in a city grid were being uploaded from Tucker's PDA. The readings showed that he was nearly on top of his enemy. As he came to a stop in the middle of the field, he saw Erik phasing out of the ground, causing screams of panic among the players and spectators.

"There you are!" said Danny as he made himself visible. Lightning crackled in the distance as the drizzle became a downpour. "You've got nowhere to run, Erik!"

Calmly as ever, Erik pressed a button on his wrist. The lights of the stadium began to take on a bluish hue as electricity beams cris-crossed between photovoltaic panels set up across the field. Danny recognized this as a form of ghost shield.

"Actually, my boy," retorted the Opera Ghost as the downpour increased, "you're the one with no place to run. HA-HA-HA-HA!"

* * *

Sam was starting to slip into delirium from Spectra's presence. She didn't even have to talk anymore to fill her patients full of misery and doubt. The goth was afraid that she might turn suicidal unless she was removed from the doctor's presence; this only strengthened her resolve to escape the bonds.

Suddenly, the sounds of a roar, a blast, and an explosion came from an unseen part of the room. This prompted Spectra to activate the comlink that she had put into her ear.

"Bertrand, report," she said with a tone of authority. A groan came out of the earpiece.

"Bertrand, answer me!" No reply. In frustration, she took the earpiece out and crushed it, letting the parts sift through her fingers.

"Well, then," said Spectra. "I believe that you've served your purpose."

Penelope's form changed from a young woman to something akin to a tangible shadow. Her legs became a spectral tail, her eyes a solid blood red. She floated over to Sam, raising her talon-like nails to sever her jugular vein.

A burst of green sparks erupted from behind the ghostly psychiatrist. She screamed in agony, then shivered out like a clubbed fish. As she collapsed to the floor, Sam saw Jazz, clad in chrome body armor, holding the weapon end of the Fenton Gost-Peeler out like a dagger. She pressed a button on the suit, making it retract into the base gun.

"Are you okay, Sam?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah. Could you get me down from here?"

Tucker burst through a previously unseen door, flooding the sterile room with light.

"Sam! I'm here to–"

He looked at Jazz, who was peeling the manacles away like wallpaper.

"Um..." Tucker was at a loss for words. "Never mind."

Sam fell to the floor as the bonds dissolved. She ran over to Tucker, dragging Jazz along with her.

"Where's Danny?" she asked, very worried.

"Up on the field, fighting the Opera Ghost. Why is there green stuff all over that hallway wall?"

Jazz blushed. "That's Bertrand. But never mind! You can explain everything on the way to the field."

Sam gathered up her belongings from the table and took off out the doorway, following Jazz and Tucker back to the surface. With luck, they wouldn't be too late...

* * *

_Omigosh! How will Danny win? What will become of Amity Park? Why am I asking you all these questions?_

_Keep sending the reviews; I need them now more than ever, in this most desperate hour!_

_See you soon!_

_Your sincerest regards,_

_Monsieur Caracal._


	13. Vincit Qui Patitur

_Well, here we are._

_My story is finally coming to an end. It feels as though it were just yesterday that I posted it on hoping that others would have some appreciation for my work. I'm just so touched that so many of you think I'm a good writer..._

_I'm sorry, I'm getting sentimental over this._

_Anyway, as I said before, this is the last chapter of my fanfic. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy reading it._

_See if you can guess what the title means, if you want. Go ahead! Guess!_

_

* * *

_  
Chapter Thirteen: _Vincit qui patitur_

It was near impossible to see through the heavy rain. The stadium lights had gone out, the sun had went down, and a sheet of heavy mist seemed to be rolling in. The only sources of illumination were the crackling conduits of the ghost shield, the occasional lightning strike, and the soft glowing auras of the two ghosts in the middle of the football field; the ones that over five hundred spectators were watching _a la_ the Roman gladiatorial games of old.

Danny didn't know why the people weren't running from the fight, as they usually did. They just stood there, spellbound by the presence of the two specters, not caring about the rain, the lightning, or a thing in the world.

His eyes darted over to the Opera Ghost, who floated at eye level with Danny about fifteen feet away. The ghost was little more than a hazy outline, raindrops splattering over his finely tailored clothing, the hat being the only thing keeping it out of his mismatched eyes. He looked a lot like a fuzzy television image.

"What did you do to them?" shouted Danny over the downpour.

"They are merely victims of a Svengali/Tribly hypnotic trance," replied Erik, his voice raised ever so slightly to be audible. "But you should worry about your own fortunes, my boy."

The Opera Ghost's had began to glow with green light, making his form a bit more clear. The ectoplasmic energy began to expand and shape at a rapid rate, and less than a second later, it had formed into what looked like a cris-crossing net-like structure, glowing green in the rain.

Suddenly, the net flew at Danny like a fist, then pulled downwards to the field, smashing the ghost-boy into the mud. He soon realized that this was more akin to a portcullis grate on a heat duct than a net, as it felt like cold metal as it pressed him into the mud.

"Alright," Danny grunted as his ribs burned. "Just why are you doing all this? It doesn't make any sense!"

It was then that a slight, dull pain began to affect Danny's neck, but he bade it no mind.

"If I told you," said Erik, "then you'd be proving that you weren't as clever as me!"

Lightning cracked overhead, creating a menacing silhouette as Danny's enemy lowered himself to the ground, maintaining his pin. Gasps and murmurs came from the crowd.

"However," he continued, "you might be owed an explanation. You see, in exchange for my services as an inventor and confidant, Penelope Spectra offered me what I've always wanted: a normal face and a normal life.

"I had many things that mortal men desire: fortune, immortality, power beyond their wildest dreams. Yet, all this was possible only after I had faded out of the mortal world, and therefore a Pyrrhic victory at best. I never again would get the chance to make my impact on the world that my parents foolishly discarded; and the impact my memory made: the one of an insane, disfigured composer, was incredibly sub-par.

"And then Spectra invited me to dinner..."

Danny tuned out of this little story for a few seconds. The pain in the back of his head was growing at a steady rate, as was the burning in his ribs. Mud began to seep through the orifices of the grate, beginning to encase his outer extremities. He was cold, wet, and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep from exhaustion.

"She got me a job in this school," continued Erik, "and showed me the perfect subject to drain: you. For once in my life, I had everything going for me. Everything! All I needed to do was provide Penny with a steady supply of misery with my music. And while I was at it, I could take my vengeance upon those who have wronged me.

"An idea came to me at that point. What would be better than murdering the man who stole my music box? Murdering his daughter, Sam Manson."

Danny's eyes shot open, all pain becoming numb. His eyes began to glow green with anger, his teeth grinding together. With one swift movement, he broke the grate, producing a sound like the shattering of glass and sending Erik flying into the mud. This excited a cheer from the crowds, who were in no way panicking.

"You let her go!" he yelled above the noise of the rain.

The Opera Ghost got back up, his cloak splattered with mud. "That was uncalled for!"

He formed a glowing green rapier in his hand, adopting a fighting stance as he squared his feet in the mud. Danny unzipped the backpack, taking out the staff-like weapon that Maddie had used in the Rocky Mountains a few months ago. He ignited the staff, and both flew up onto the football goals, holding their footing precariously.

"Face it, Phantom!" exclaimed the Opera Ghost. "You can't escape from my wrath, you can't save your friend, and you can't best my genius! You're a freak of nature!"

Danny smiled, the pain in his head becoming more severe. "This coming from a guy who has to wear a mask?"

Lightning clashed and thunder rumbled as Erik lunged, swinging his ecto-sword at the ghost-boy. With immense desperation, Danny managed to parry his blows, leaping over Erik's head and causing his sword to break on the goalpost. Both whirled around, lightning illuminating them as the crowd gave a cheer.

The pain in Danny's head now became immense, causing him to grasp his head in anguish. Erik charged forward, snapping the staff in half with a kick and knuckling the ghost-boy in his already bruised ribs. Danny felt the urge to vomit, but shook it off as he fell to the mud, his opponent landing a few feet away. For a second, he thought that he had heard the noise of an electric scooter over the rain and thunder.

"You're only deluding yourself," snarled Erik. "You have less than half of the power than you had the last time we fought, your ribs are bruised, and you're about to bleed from the inside in a few minutes. Your little plan was flawed from the–"

A blur raced past as Danny fell to the ground. He got up, clutching his sides, to see Sam clothesline Erik, sending him into the goalpost. She swerved around to Danny, a look of utter worry on her face.

"Danny," she cried. "You're still alive!"

O.G. was just getting up, yet a second later, he doubled over in pain; green sparks began to fly out from around him. Danny found what the source was very quickly:

_Sam had attached the Specter-Deflector to Erik's waist._

Danny flew into Erik's stomach, sending him reeling into one of the photovoltaic panels that powered the ghost shield. His body erupted into a shower of white and green sparks as his scream could be heard echoing across the stadium. The conduits of pseudo-electricity fizzled out, the lights of the stadium came back on, and the crowd seemed to come out of its stupor, panicking and rushing for the nearest exits.

Erik fell into the mud, twitching from the power surge he had just gone through.

Sam chimed in with a small smile: "There's a 'french fry' pun in this somewhere, but I'd rather not."

Danny turned to Sam; her eyes were still worrisome despite her smile.

"Sam?" he asked, breathing heavily. "What did you mean by 'I'm still alive'?"

"Spectra said that Erik gave you an aneurism when the sucked out your energy. That you'll die in a few minutes..." Her eyes welled up with tears, and she hugged Danny. "I don't want to lose you! You're my best friend!"

Danny didn't even have time to digest this information when a glowing green lasso lashed around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides. The next thing he knew, he was being pulled over five stories up, away from the ground and his friend. He looked up to find Erik, twitching and smoking, holding the other end of the rope, glaring down at Danny with eyes full of hatred.

"You think you've won?" he wheezed. "Once Spectra and Bertrand set off those explosives, your friend will be vaporized along with half of Amity Park! And before you die, I'll drain you of every last bit of energy, and make your last moments alive incredibly painful!" He erupted into a cackle that made Danny shiver.

Then, the ghost-boy got an idea. He grasped the glowing rope with both hands and shouted:

"GO GHOST STINGER!"

Green energy from Erik's end of the line had begun to crawl towards Danny when his pseudo-electric attack forced it back. The lasso whipped around the ghost's arm, electrocuting him with great force. As ecto-lightning crackled around his body, Erik's eyes lost their green glow, his skin became pale and gaunt, and his face seemed to surge and boil away.

Danny felt empowered. His head no longer split with pain; he no longer had to struggle to keep in midair; he had his powers back!

Erik fell towards the bleachers, crumpling upon impact. When Danny landed on the ground, he saw his adversary, surrounded by Jazz and Tucker, strung up by his ankles with his own Punjab lasso. His transparent face was in full view, utterly grotesque in appearance:

He had no skin on the right side; just a transparent film that revealed bone and green muscles with little, pulsating veins. He had no nose to speak of, merely a gaping, skull-like hole. His lips were grossly malformed and bloodless, his darker eye sunken into the socket.

"NOOOO!" he screamed as the two teens approached him. "MY FACE! MY BEAUTIFUL, MAN-PRETTY FACE!"

The sight was almost too much for Danny as he fell into unconsciousness...

* * *

"_Danny?_"

He blearily opened his eyes. He saw his sister staring back down at him.

"Danny, are you alright?" she asked.

He sat up, finding that he was in his room, clutching his sides as his ribs began to sting again. Jazz was sitting by his bed, Sam and Tucker standing behind her.

"Yeah," he said. "What happened?"

"Uh...Mom and Dad said that they found you inside the giant ghost-shield after the light post was knocked down. You were unconscious." Jazz seemed as though she knew something that no one else did, but Danny put it off to the combat stress.

"Now then," his sister continued. "I'll go get your dinner, okay?" With that, she walked out of the room. Danny turned to Tucker and Sam.

"What happened to Erik and Spectra?"

"Right here," Tucker said, brandishing the Fenton Thermos. "And not looking too good, thanks to Jazz. I'll go shove them back into the Ghost Zone. You know; give you two a moment of privacy." He smiled as he walked out of the room, leaving Sam and Danny alone.

"Uh..." Sam began. "About what I said back there..."

"It's okay," Danny replied with a grin. "I might have done the same thing."

Sam walked over to the dresser, taking an enormous, bound manuscript and her velvet-lined music box over to the bed.

"I found this in the music room after we got back from the bunker. Lancer said that I could keep it, seeing as how he knows about O.G. He saw the entire thing when he was in the teacher's box in the stadium. He and about five hundred others thought you were really something with your sword-fighting and all."

Danny flipped through the manuscript. It contained many different songs, all written in faded, red ink and signed by Erik. Sam stopped him at a song titled _Don Juan Triumphant_.

"That's the song the box plays," she said. To demonstrate, she opened it up, letting its hauntingly beautiful notes fill the room. It made Danny forget all about the pain in his ribs for a moment; let him think about things he liked. And enjoy them.

"I feel a lot better," he sighed. "Thanks, Sam."

Sam smiled. That meant a lot.

Not even the appearance of the Box Ghost could ruin this moment.

"I am the Box Ghost!" he shouted dramatically. "And I shall now claim this box of music as my own!"

Danny casually blasted the annoying little spirit out of the air. He shrunk back.

"Uh...beware!" And he flew through the wall.

"Now I feel even better," said Danny.

Sam gave a wry smile. "I'll bet you do."

The End.

* * *

_It's done! After all this time, it's finally done!_

_I feel so much better. I've now successfully published my first piece of fanfiction! I am now high on life!_

_Read and review please! Let me know how I did!_

_Goodbye, everybody!_

_Your sincerest regards,_

_Monsieur Caracal. _


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